Talking About Terrorism

Talk with children. Find out what scares them; try to reassure them.

Talk with the children. Tell them what happened. Find out what
scares them; try to reassure them. Most of all, keep your ears and eyes
open. That's what America's teachers have been asked to do since the
terrorist attacks of Sept. 11. They're supposed to make our kids feel
secure, even as they look for "warning signs" of students or others who
might breach our security. Priest, therapist, news anchor, cop:
Teachers must now play all of these roles, all of the time.

Let's not forget their most important job: to prepare our youngsters
for citizenship. A healthy democracy requires citizens who can think
and deliberate about difficult public issues. In the wake of the
attacks, then, teachers need to challenge their students with hard
questions—not just to comfort them with easy answers.

"Talk with children. Find out what scares them; try to
reassure them."

Who are these terrorists? Why did they attack America?

Should America retaliate? Against whom?

Would you be willing to fight in such a war? To die in it? Why?

Adults have been asking one another these questions since the events
of last month. But we've been loath to ask our children, lest we upset
their cherished view of a safe and secure world.

For elementary-age children, of course, that's entirely appropriate:
They can't understand the questions well enough to frame cogent
answers. But students in junior high and high school can understand,
and they can answer—if we have the courage to demand it.

These young people are the heirs of our democracy; in a few short
years, they will be electing our leaders and shaping our public life.
How will they learn to assume these duties unless our schools teach
them? And when better to do so than during the greatest political
crisis of their lives?

For most of American history, sadly, schools have indoctrinated
students with a single national "truth" instead of encouraging them to
formulate their own. During World War I, for example, federally
sponsored lesson plans taught children that Germany was historically
"autocratic," while France—as personified by Joan of
Arc—was inherently "democratic." (Little noticed was the fact
that England—another supposedly "democratic'' ally—had
burned Joan of Arc at the stake.)

In the 1950s, likewise, school boards removed a textbook that asked
students to explain the causes of unemployment in America. As one
critic explained, any such line of inquiry could only play into the
hands of the Soviet enemy. "There should be a constructive, positive
approach," he explained, "and emphasis should be placed upon the 'good
things' in American life."

After the civil rights revolution, to be sure, textbooks devoted far
more attention to the hardships of African-Americans and other
minorities. But the themes of our classrooms—like the titles of
our texts—remained overwhelmingly positive: Quest for Liberty,
Land of Freedom, and so on. Rarely were students asked to decide for
themselves whether America is a uniquely "free" nation, and what that
might mean.

Into the present, in fact, our public schools remain remarkably free
of political controversy. Most surveys of teachers report that they
avoid or discourage divisive subjects, lest they offend parents or lose
control of students. Better to focus on "the facts"—bland,
neutral, and authoritative—than to engage in a risky debate about
them.

But this approach mocks the same values of freedom and democracy
that it purports to celebrate. If we took freedom seriously, we would
encourage each student to develop his or her own perspective on the
nation—its past, present, and future. And if we took democracy
seriously, we would require these students to argue and deliberate with
one another about the leading public issues of their day.

"Let's not forget teachers' most important job: to
prepare our youngsters for citizenship."

Would such instruction turn young people against America, or weaken
their resolve to defend it? The very question reveals a cynical and
static view of the nation itself. America is not a timeless entity, but
a work in progress; not a statue cast in bronze, but a society composed
of people. Since it is also a democracy, these people must determine
its direction and its fate. And schools must give them the skills and
the capacities to do so.

Would discussions of war frighten the students, disturbing their
bucolic teenage idyll? The terrorists already did that. If we want to
comfort our children—and ourselves—in a meaningful way, we
should demand that they develop a solid understanding of the tragedy as
well as an informed opinion about America's response. The only image
scarier than the smoldering World Trade Center is the idea of future
citizens who have not thought deeply about it.

So yes, teachers, please console the children. Hug them, if it
helps. After that, though, make sure to ask them, "What should America
do now?"

And make sure they know that their answer counts.

Jonathan Zimmerman teaches history in the school of education at New
York University. He is the author of Storm Over the Schoolhouse: The
Culture Wars in American Education, which will be published next
year by Harvard University Press.

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